


Extracirricular Activities

by Saesama



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Drabble, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-24
Updated: 2012-12-24
Packaged: 2017-11-22 06:48:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/606990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saesama/pseuds/Saesama
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They all had their hobbies</p>
<p>(Silly HS AU drabbles with bonus rarepairs if you squint)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Extracirricular Activities

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so the inspiration for this was very much the thought 'why is Dave always the football star? John's more the type, Dave's the artsy theater kid.' and then it kinda took off on a tangent.
> 
> Really, I just want to write cute things while I try and get the kid's voices down.

Sports

o o o

You tense and stare down the guy in front of you. He stares back and for a moment, the world is perfect silence and tension.

There's the call, the snap, and you're running. You duck one guy, dodge another, turn, and the ball is right there like the wind brought it to you and you hear the crowd light up and the cheerleaders scream your name.

" _John, John, he's our King! Let's see you do that windy thing!_ "

And then you're gone, baby, gone, running down the field with the ball under your arm and the wind in your face and coach says he's never seen someone with your kind of breath control because sixty yards doesn't even get you panting. You pass the final line and the stadium screams itself hoarse.

A pair of arms latch around your neck and Roxy plants a big, silly kiss on your helmet. You hug her back and twirl her around a little and she shrieks with laughter when her skirt spins out. She's on the varsity cheer, and they hardly perform at the freshmen games because cheer competitions and the varsity games are hard enough. But she tries to make it to all of your games because you're, like, the bee-eef-effsies little bro, gotta represent!

And then she gets your helmet off of you and plants another big, silly kiss on your cheek kind of really close to your mouth and you hope no one sees you go cross-eyed.

o o o

Theater

o o o

"But yet thou art my flesh, my blood, my daughter."

You reduce the lights just a hair, and ease one red and one yellow just a little brighter. On stage, Jane is bathed in an angry crimson, and the girl across from her - Cindy something - is doused in nasty, ugly yellow.

"Or rather a disease that's in my flesh," Jane continues, stalking back and forth. "Which I must needs call mine: thou art a boil, a plague-sore, an embossed carbuncle, in my corrupted blood."

Nasty stuff. Shakespeare had the best insults. 

You play with the reverb from Jane's mic a little, pushing a little extra power behind her voice. Jane is great on stage, but she is still very much a teenaged girl, and her voice is a touch too high to ever be really masculine. But a little more omph from the sound crew (you) and she can really nail the reedy voice of a once-powerful man past his prime.

"But I'll not chide thee; let shame come when it will, I do not call it." Her voice slows down a little, hesitant, then picks up extra confidence when she likes the result of your tweaks. "I do not bid the thunder-bearer shoot," she spits out, her hands all sharp slashes and Cindy actually cowers back. "Nor tell tales of thee to high-judging Jove. Mend when thou canst; be better at thy leisure."

She pauses, looks down her nose at Cindy. "I can be patient; I can stay with Regan, I and my hundred knights."

There's a heart-beat, and the rest of the cast bursts into applause. It's the first rehearsal you've all had together where you're bouncing off of each other, and no one else thought Jane could actually pull off King Lear. You had utmost faith, of course (and no, not just because John would thrash you for dogging on his sis) Now there's kids down on the floor, congratulating Mr. K on making the auditions gender-blind.

Jane's blushing at the praise, and you bring up the lights in the booth. You wait until she looks up at you before shooting her a thumbs-up. She smiles and blushes harder and shoots one back.

o o o

Shop Class

o o o 

You're upside-down in the front seat of a sixty-seven Camaro, a flashlight between your teeth and your head digging into the floorboard. Something light brushes the back of your knee and you pause your attempts at rewiring the ignition to mumble around the flashlight. "Dirk, I swear to god, if you start, I'm kicking you in the skull."

He snorts and flips upside-down in the passenger seat to look at you through the destroyed console. His glasses are missing - he's been practically inside of the engine block all morning, and they're too wide for some of the places he had his head - and he gives you a wounded look. "Is that any way to treat the man that brought you Burger King?" he demands. "Because I did. My own hard-earned money went into this meal, Harley, and you threaten to kick me in the head. I can't take this. I'm going home to mother, and I'm taking the cat with me."

"Oh, good, I'm starving," you say, the words barely intelligible. "And take the cat, before Bec eats it."

"You're as dramatic as a brick, Harley. Where's the dignified weeping at my departure?"

"I'll weep when I'm not hungry," you say. Too much talking dislodges your precarious grasp on the flashlight, and it tumbles to the floor beside your head. "Damn!" And you're so close, the final connections are right there, and you can't see a damn thing.

"Hold still," Dirk sighs. He sits up and leans over the console, and his shoulder and arm press up against your side when he reaches down to grab the flashlight. He stays like that, holding the light for you, his hip socked up against the console and his feet somewhere in the back seat. There is no way in hell he's comfortable like that, but he's giving you a chance and you make the last few connections as quickly as you can.

He rolls over you - "Oof!" - and out the car door, landing more or less on his feet. You grab the key clipped on your belt and manage to get it in the ignition upside down, twist and-

"Hell yes," Dirk says as the engine coughs and sputters. It doesn't catch - there's too many parts missing - but now you both know that the ignition works and that it's actually connected to the battery. 

You stop cranking the half-there engine and climb out from under the dash, grinning wide. "And they said we couldn't get it working," you say, holding up your hand.

"To hell with them," Dirk replies, returning the high-five. "Come on, the onion rings are getting cold."

o o o

Book Club

o o o

The rest of both clubs are long gone, the library is nearly empty, and you don't care in the least, because you're chin-deep in the most interesting conversation you're ever had with Jake English.

Once a month, the Book club invites the Movie club over for a friendly debate entitled 'which did it better?' Both sides argue their preferred media and there's not always a winner, but it's always fun. Last month, you handed Jake a solid beating over Abraham Lincoln: Vampire Hunter, and you should have known that he'd take his defeat as a challenge.

The clubs at large discussed Fern Gully. Jake challenged you to a one-on-one over the Shawshank Redemption and you thought you had it in the bag. S. King, while not your favorite author, has a special place in your heart as the first horror novels you've ever read.

But Jake came prepared.

You wonder, if this analytical side of him is new, or if it's just usually hidden behind his genuine and often over-spilling love of movies in general. Which ever is the case, you were not prepared for the sharp rapport you got. Yes, it's still Jake and his use of metaphors and euphemisms and exclamations is so terrible it's nearly charming, but he's being knowledgeable instead of blindly enthusiastic and he's countering your points with facts and sharpened opinions instead of a cheerfully exasperating 'well, I think you're wrong!'

Oh, you certainly hurt his pride last month. He probably even asked Roxy for a good movie to challenge you on.

Your debate wings around in deepening spirals of Morgan Freeman and plot points and camera angles and Stephen King's penchant for tangents that flesh out the world but don't tell the story. And somewhere around the time you realize that you can hear the librarian kicking people out of the stacks, you realize something else.

"Mr. English," you say, smiling. "I do believe you have bested me."

He stares at you, clearly expecting a rebuttal to his last point, but then he grins widely. "I'll be blasted," he says, shaking his head. "Rose Lalonde admits that a movie might have done a better job. I'd better call Dirk and collect on our bet because surely, the world _must_ be ending this winter!"

"Oh, shush," you say, but you're smiling anyway as you collect your notepad and the dog-eared copy of the book you've been discussing. You look up and - "Damn. It always gets dark so early this time of year."

"C'mon," Jake says, standing. "I'm a generous enough victor to offer my opponent a ride home."

"Your magnanimity is overwhelming," you say dryly, but you break face by giggling a little when he holds open the door with an overly dramatic flourish.

o o o


End file.
